still growing or full grown?

"yeah bro, totally," fitz says, flaunting a big smile to hide his increasing uncertainty. fitz places his skateboard back on the floor and hops back on it, balancing on it from one foot to another, mainly just to do something with his ever-thrumming body. "one more chan-related question and then i promise i'll forget he ever existed," fitz says. "that birthday party tallie's hosting is coming up, i'm sure you got an invite. anyway, i was thinking over what to get him as a gift, and i noticed he doesn't wear a watch - do you think that'd be lame, getting him one as my gift? like, i don't know, has he evolved past the need to tell time?"

"shit, speaking of the party though,” dom leans his elbows on his knees, turning entirely conspiratorial as if his ensuing statement is not a facet of every college kid everywhere, "i can't go toe to toe with chan, but since it's his special day, it's the one time i try and get supremely fucked up. i've got aileen's permission, but i've embarrassed myself like, five years running, so i need your expertise out there. watch my back, talk me down, all that?"

he leans back onto his hands, looking up at tallie as he considers, and finally concludes, "y’know, now that you mention it, i bet she'll like it. i think she’s mentioned having a thing for piercings." aileen, for one, has always bought into the whole golden heir image, even while she encouraged him to break its bounds. "what’s your bet, your highness? you two are... pretty close, right?"

though the sun had been pouring into emilia's room for hours, it was the pounding of her head that woke her. a hangover, maybe, from the wine she'd had a bit too much of, or perhaps just the headache that comes from someone airing your dirty laundry to your peers. none of it felt real to her - the cryptic message, the responses from the group, even the secret itself. not that it was even true, but of course, only dove would know that. as for everyone else, their perceptions of her - that she'd worked so hard to curate - would change.

when she'd given it to dupont, she never expected it to see the light of day. just another lie to add to her spreadsheet, one that should've been relatively inconsequential. and yet, here it was, laid out plainly for public consumption. emilia turned over, tangled up in her sheets, and reached for her phone on her nightstand. rereading the message for the hundredth time wouldn't help the dull throbbing in her head, she knew, but she couldn't help herself.

last night, after she and dom had arrived home, she'd immediately excused herself to her room. behind her locked door, she'd drunkenly reanalyzed both the email and her spreadsheet, reviewing her story over and over and over so that she wouldn't forget it moving forward. she'd probably need to do it again, she realized, now that she was sober. but first, she needed to take care of this headache.

she ventures into the kitchen to find that it's much later than she'd normally allow herself to sleep in, and pours herself a glass of water so she can take some ibuprofen. said ibuprofen, though, was nowhere to be found. digging around in the medicine cabinet was yielding no results, and before she can get much farther into her search, she hears the familiar click of dom's door announcing his presence. "i can't find the ibuprofen," she says, feeling quite helpless. "can you help me look? my head's killing me."

but like all the others, he must try. "shit," he sucks in a breath through his teeth, forehead scrunching in the way that only ever means bad news. "i killed it last night. i am so sorry, i haven't had the chance to grab more yet." quickly, having been given a new task to steady his stomach, dom abandons they precarious laundry-and-laptop combo he had been carrying to display a sheepish, consoling grin. "i can go out right now, but, hear me out. you can come with me if you want, and i will also provide complimentary bad-roommate, let-me-make-it-up-to-you breakfast. completely not contingent on the company provided and completely your choice of locale."

which, to be fair, he would have done anyway. she looks miserable, and it is far, far easier to offer her this, an errand run and a weight off her shoulders, as if it is an apology, rather than a pity. dom, cracking his door open to swipe his keys from the desk, is more than happy to play their game of pretend for a little while. "i didn't wake you, did i? i thought i heard you up pretty late."

"woah woah woah, double date?" fitz asks, the term jolting his attention back to the conversation. "oh yeah no, nah, no, me and chan aren't - like sure, yeah, we fuck around, but that's not - i mean, unless he said something to you that he didn't say to me?" fitz feels pathetic, schoolboy with a crush when he's usually the fuckboy prince of australia. "me and chan are very whatever, i don't think he has any interest of spending time with me while the sun's up." he grabs another couple gummies and devours them, ripping with his molars and chewing thoughtfully. "you and chan are kind of an odd pair," he remarks. "how come you guys became friends instead of like, the nerd and the jock who shoves him into a locker?"

perhaps rightfully. dom is way too sappy to deal in the collective chanfitz attempts at aloofness, and he laughs, warning, "it's real fuckin' cheesy. you sure you wanna hear it?" he dusts off sugar granules from his hands and holds them up, palms forward, in a gesture of you asked for it. "he was assigned to tutor me in math. i maintain that he got stuck with me, 'cause even when we were kids, he still had that real... self assured vibe. like, he knew what he was doing and expected you to catch up." naturally, this worked out well for a self-doubting rule-follower like dom. "plus, making chan laugh is the best. it's like getting membership into a super exclusive club, i mean - you get it."

he chuckles, his voice still husky with sleep, and lifts himself onto a single palm, apologizing for his initial greeting by pressing a kiss to either corner of aileen's lips. "is it terribly insensitive of me if i say i slept better than i have in weeks?" dom's smile is honey-sweet and syrupy as he drops his head, tucking his nose beneath her jaw and kissing there, too. "you might need to stay over more often."

and now marcel. a person she had looked up to, had placed trust in. someone she had devoted hours to, always desiring his opinion on every project she worked on. they had all spilt secrets into his grasp, and yet this was the least of her worries. she had confidence he would protect them, even in death. 

she lights the final candles fighting the looming threat of tears, stands back with an exhale as she surveys all their hard work. the days following marcel’s death were a blur, faceless minutes awash with a sepia glow. she hardly remembered meeting with dom, planning the vigil with a sensitivity only the two of them could provide. 

“i’m sure he would approve. he always seemed into plants... y'know, when i joined pradetius he gave me bluebells with my key to the cottage. to this day i’m still not sure why. did he give you anything?”

like gemma, the secrets are far from dom’s mind. while he stands there with her, contemplating their opposing gifts, he can only come to one distant conclusion. “can’t believe we’ll never get to know.” then, after a beat, dom refocuses. he remembers who he is with, and thinks, even if briefly, to offer a consoling touch — before his hand falters midair, falling back to a place of indecision, of inaction.

“yours… sounds like he liked you, at least. knew you. do you… feel like it fits?”

at the gesture, chan furrows his eyebrows but complies anyway, twisting his body so his socks brush against the other man. "i don't have to share shit," chan says with a laugh. "i'm the greatest mind of our generation writing two different senior theses that will likely define theoretical mathematics for the next half decade, wherein there am i supposed to fit petty relationship drama? do you think erdös was going around writing love letters in between publishing a paper a day?" and yet, the look dom is giving him isn't an easy one to push away, and so chan has no choice but to sigh and offer meager confessions: "i think gemma is attractive but insufferable," he says. "and i think fitz is insufferable but attractive." a beat. "and his head game is decent." chan breaks into a smile, taking one of the balcony pillows and throwing it toward dom. "that's all you're getting! greed isn't a good look on anyone, let alone meraviglia's golden boy."

he doesn't even notice the blankets until dom points them out, and then he's shifting nervously. the truth is he doesn't run cold, the coke is more than sufficient at ensuring that, but every since pukegate at the chapel, chan's been taking it easier than he usually does. as a result, not quite full-blown withdrawal, but little hints of it — a propensity to shiver a bit when others might not. "body's not used to fall, i guess," chan says. he hesitates, and every nerve in his body freezes, screaming just tell him just tell him tellhimtellhimtellhim. he opens his mouth: "and." chan says. the words wobble. "i think i'm catching something, maybe. fucking freshmen flu getting to me."

only decent. again, chan earns a laugh, proving eternally that he talks a big game for someone entirely adept at being funny and charming, and dom nearly misses the window to catch that hurtled pillow before it tumbles off the balcony entirely.

“you’re attractive but insufferable. what other commonalities do you need?” it is then dom’s turn to consider, head tilted and gaze thoughtful, adding the bare numerals of the two equations against each other as he props the pillow atop chan’s socks. finally, he deduces, “gemma’s too good for you, but you knew that already, didn’t you?” gemma has never put herself first. every trait chan does not share with gemma overlap in the venn diagram of the reasons he likes her. the combination of chan and fitz, though, even while chan reduces the latter to his head game, changes dom’s smile from a crooked grin to something quieter, something all-together too knowing. “i like fitz.” his arms folding against the throw pillow, pinning the slippery boy genius into a jenga-tower of confessions as he offers only, “he pays attention to you.”

fitz knows what chan eats, doesn’t. fitz notices chan’s especially long insomniatic stints. meraviglia’s so-called golden boy hangs onto that wobble of words and decides to believe, not for the first time, in things that are good enough.

“are you really surprised with all those parties you go to? i mean, you’re lucky it’s just the flu, fuck. you could catch mono just standing next to the jungle juice. tell me if it gets chicken soup bad, i’ll come over and confiscate your textbooks ‘til you’re rested.”

although skating started out as a vanity hobby, a way for fitz to entice the baddies with the whole he was a skater boy vibe, it quickly turned into one of fitz’s fool-proof stress managers. not academic stress, of course (fitz didn’t believe in all that), but the kind of stress that comes along with losing a brother or, in light of recent events, a professor with whom you shared a complicated relationship. he weaves across campus, skirting against bannisters and curbs when the opportunity strikes, his 5-grand headphones blasting tunes all the while. i like them girls with big butts and golds in they mouth / i come from the back road and a dirty house. admittedly, it was hard to relate to certain hip-hop lyrics as a billionaire’s baby.

at the sight of dominic sitting on a nearby block, fitz slows his swerves until he’s at a halt in front of the other man. “yo domma momma, what’s popping?” he asks. “you’re looking awfully contemplative, something gotcha down? besides, you know…” he trails off. “the obvious.” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out whatever snack is lingering in there, which happens to be a pack of sour gummy worms today. “can i offer you a gummy a la worm for your troubles?” before he gets a response, he dangles three over his mouth and drops them unceremoniously. “i nabbed them from chan the man’s kitchen,” he says between undignified chomps. he follows it with a chaser of a water bottle squirt straight down his throat. “have you ever seen him eat a protein source? or like, a fruit? he knows everything except the essentials of the food pyramid - somebody needs to get boy genius an acai bowl intervention, stat.”

dominic is a strong believer in an offense routine. a regular sleeps schedule, an accurate water intake, navigating without a map whenever possible to keep his brain's grey matter... soft, or whatever it's supposed to be. in reality, today's daily run and nyt puzzle have a snowball's chance in hell at keeping him alive long enough to see him greying and finally out of the public eye, but a man can dream. that’s what fitz has caught him in, a contemplation of what the fuck do referee and candy cane have in common?, and thus understandably, eager to exit.

“fuck an açaí bowl, i think i’d settle for like, a sole sprig of broccoli. he’s definitely broken the world-record for most orange dye consumed without contracting real-life scurvy.” dom is contemplative a moment, looking between the silvery glitter on his own skin to fitz's flawless looking complexion, before he's leaning in, mouth agape for the gummy a la worm to be deposited into. "i worried he was gonna give our dorm room ants for like, years. i'd say we could do dinner, but... shit, scale of one to ten, how much you think asking him out on a double date'll make him break out in hives? worth the risk?"

his brows furrow and his teeth bite off the end of his compliment so hard they click, but credit where credit is due, he doesn't jump. he makes himself into the perfect patient, muttering a soft, "three, at best. my rib tattoo was way worse," as his gaze returns back to the grinning brunette. he feels blindly for the abandoned phone, swiping over to the camera and blossoming into a grin. "my dad's going to fucking kill me." it's perfect. with this, at least for a little while, dom becomes his own. "i knew i was coming to an expert, bernal. wouldn't have trusted my hotness in anyone else's hands."

chan doesn’t see dom for those first few days after the cathedral. it’s not like that’s his intention, but between fielding calls from his family and the couple exams he has in the following days and — well, maybe it is his intention, a little bit. there is a growing sense of shame in chan (an emotion he is all-but a complete stranger to) surrounding the fact that he became a person in the cathedral that had to be taken care of, that had to be worried about. he remembers the worry in dom’s eyes and he replays it, can’t really escape it. the best part about chan’s brain is the same as the worst: once he learns something, sees something, he doesn’t forget it.

but three days pass and chan finally asks dom if the older man wants to come over to his place. now, they sit on chan’s balcony, and once chan settles into a comfortable position with blankets arranged accordingly, he looks to dom with furrowed eyebrows. “where do you want to start?” chan asks. “broken bottle or deceased…” chan tries to find the right words before simply ending on: “dupont.” it’s a little uncomfortable even to say his name. chan and dom were noticeably two of marcel’s favorites, and yet chan doesn’t know how they should be addressing him now – with respect or with honesty?

dom breaks a soft smile, rueful and contemplative. "speaking of gemma, i think it's your fucking turn to overshare, park. i got a fistful of gummy worms from your little arm candy earlier today. honestly, that mutual sweet tooth of yours made that whole thing make more sense." clearly, dom has picked up the propensity for gossip from his nights with em and dove. he employs it well, down to twisting toward chan, offering his lap up for the other's legs, the same way the girls always do to him, while he gestures to their veritable nest chan has built. "not all this, though. i know you kind of well, since when do you run cold?"

aileen kept her line of sight trained on his facial features as she tried to discern exactly what was going through his mind. normally, she was in sync with him but like everything else lately, she felt off. "i'm not hiding anything from you. i..." then, she paused as she processed carefully what she was going to say next to him. "i've been trying to deal with it on my own." like everything else in her life.

she looked down for a moment as she fiddled with her thumbs nervously, unsure of how to proceed with the next statement that would eventually come out of her mouth after several moments of looking at her partner. "my parents are getting a divorce and... my grandma is sick," she finally confessed to him in a quiet octave, adding then, "it feels wrong being here when my entire world... my entire life is falling apart. i just didn't want to... talk about it. talking about it makes it real and..." by then, she was wiping at her eyes as she spoke, "it can't be real."

i've been trying to deal with it on my own, she says, and with every syllable, dom's tough-guy facade starts to crumble. she breaks her stare and it is a loss he wishes he did not feel, her voice wavers and he aches with a sympathy he wants nothing to do with — but then again, since when were his wants, his wishes, a factor in any equation?

"i'm sorry." for the second time since the cathedral, dominic offers a too-little apology, sinking onto the couch cushions next to aileen and placing his hand on her thigh. "that sounds like... it sucks. that sounds hard." his jaw flexes, his breath comes in a low, rushing exhale, but his worries, his suspicions, are assuaged. it's not everything, it shouldn't even be enough, yet still, dom is quick to slide an arm around aileen's shoulders and pull her in toward his chest.

maybe he's just trying to be a better partner than he is a friend. "do you want me to go with you to the dean? see about filling the paperwork for an academic leave, or... or something? get you home for a little while? i doubt they'd let me come with, but maybe?..."

without  warning  she  reaches  out  and  grabs  his  hand,  sticking  out  her  arm  and  dragging  his  fingers  to  press  against  where  she  was  clipped  by  the  bottle,  forcing  herself  not  to  flinch  when  it  stings.  she  does  it  decisively,  because  she  feels  cowardly  hiding  it,  because  she  realizes  it’ll  tear  into  his  heart  and  hurt  him  more  than  it  could  ever  hurt  her,  because  adonis  had  already  run  his  fingers  over  it  and  maybe  this  could  destroy  the  singular  intimacy  of  that  moment.  maybe  she  could  go  around  and  show  it  to  everyone  until  any  meaning  it  held  was  destroyed  and  it  could  cease  to  exist,  until  aileen  couldn’t  leave  a  mark.  

“  she  hurt  me  dominic,  ”  her  voice  is  crystal  clear  but  quieter  than  usual,  “  and  i  don’t  really  care  if  it’s  because  she  thinks  that  you  love  me,  or  that  dupont  always  liked  me  better,  or  because  she  feels  threatened  by  my  skill  set,  so  you’re  right,  it  isn’t  about  you.  ”  her  eyes  are  fixed  on  his  and  unwavering,  “  but  she’s  going  to  come  to  you,  or  hell,  you’ll  probably  go  to  her.  and  you’re  gonna  forgive  her,  like  it  didn’t  even  matter,  ”  like  she  didn’t  even  matter.  “  and  it’s  the  same  as  when  she  started  coming  after  me  and  i  called  for  your  help  and  you  did  nothing,  and  when  i  got  hurt  and  you  did  nothing.  i  am  upset  with  you,  but  it’s  because  you’re  not  the  friend  i  thought  you  were,  and  i  hate  being  wrong,  ” 

genevieve is, as always, an apt judge of character. she grabs his hand and his worried frown deepens, his touch curving around her arm, his thumb running, ever so gently, beneath where the skin is raised and irritated from the seawater. it does, as she hoped, tear into his heart; and dom, evergreen truth-teller, could not hope to hide that from his expression.

"you're right." if gen knows how to tug his heartstrings, then she knows better than to expect a fight. you're not the friend i thought you were, she says, and how could he do anything but agree? wince, but agree. "i mean, i'm not proud of it, but you're right, i know. chan barely spoke to me all summer, and now i'm so wrapped up in my own shit with aileen that you... i mean, indomitable, willful you, are never going to look at me the same away again."

gen is famously lethal, but maybe that's something dom's always liked about her. that his touch, still lingering on her arm, feels at home with her unforgiveness. he will try to earn it anyway. "but it does matter. if you take anything away from my ambushing you, fuck, i hope it's that. and maybe in the meantime, i can try to prove you right, right? be the friend you thought i was?"

she  won’t  admit  it,  would  never  admit  it,  but  part  of  her  feels  cold  and  vulnerable  and  raw  standing  on  the  beach  —  and  the  streak  of  self  preservation  in  her  resents  that  she’s  been  made  to  feel  that  way  in  the  one  space  she’s  always  kept  sacred.  “  you  have  about  five  minutes  until  i’m  dry  enough  to  leave  this  beach,  so  why  don’t  you  give  it  your  best  shot.  i’m  sure  your  explanation  for  why  you  let  your  insane  girlfriend  throw  a  bottle  at  me  and  then  couldn’t  muster  so  much  as  an  ‘are  you  ok’  is  just  phenomenal,  ”  her  sarcasm  drips,  “  and  then  we  can  consider  our  business  finished,  yeah  ?  ”

he leans toward her, offering an apology that still feels too small, even after all his mental drafting of it. "i am sorry, gen. i know the... thing you two have isn't all about me, i couldn't even begin to pretend i'm interesting enough for that, but i am sorry for any part i played in your getting hurt."

gen wouldn't dare let anyone think she was anything but okay, and dominic wouldn't dare pretend himself influential enough to put a ding in genevieve calloway's impervious armor. what he can say, meeting her sharp gaze with his open, soft one, is, "and i'm sorry that every time we seem to meet on the beach it's for a bad reason, and that things between us have gotten so fucking complicated." in truth, they hadn’t been ‘easy’ since the first day they kissed in the seventh grade, but dominic does miss their sense of understanding — the people they can be when it’s just them, pressures of the world tidily compartmentalized and stored away.